NEW YORK—Stressing that the league will take a hard-line stance when enforcing its policy for on-field conduct, NFL commissioner Roger Goodell announced plans Thursday to curb any prolonged or excessive touchdown celebrations by removing the areas of players’ brains responsible for emotions.

SARATOGA SPRINGS, NY—Spurning his deepest and most ardent desires, local man Mark Werner reportedly betrayed his heart Thursday by telling a friend he was dining with that he could have the last dumpling.

WASHINGTON—Expressing confidence that the nation would meet the ambitious benchmarks by the end of Donald Trump’s presidential term, Scott Pruitt, the president-elect’s nominee for chief of the Environmental Protection Agency, said Thursday he would seek a 30 percent cut in all carbon-based organisms upon assuming office.

LAKE ZURICH, IL—In an effort to provide customers with a more practical product that better suits their typical usage, office supplies manufacturer Mead released a new realistic day planner this week that only includes entries for the first couple weeks after its purchase.

BOZEMAN, MT—Assuring reporters they could maintain the man’s elevated levels of stress and get his mind racing uncontrollably, three cups of coffee stated Thursday morning they were confident they could take local resident Ryan Hubbard’s anxiety from here.

‘We’re Excited About This, But Silt Research Certainly Isn’t For Everyone,’ Say Geologists

BOULDER, CO—A team of geologists from the University of Colorado announced at a press conference Wednesday that they had made a significant discovery concerning the world’s silt deposits, but stated that they understand if you aren’t interested in that sort of thing.

‘I Can Mail It To You If You’re Still Using It,’ Says Mom

RACINE, WI—Concerned that you might be upset if she were to get rid of it without permission, your mother reportedly called Wednesday to ask if she could throw away your three-ring binder from middle school.

CHICAGO—Promising that every effort would be made to limit the impact on residents’ day-to-day lives, Chicago officials announced Wednesday that a fleet of plows was working around the clock to clear more than 18 inches of fresh bullet casings that had blanketed the metropolitan area overnight.

SEATTLE—Fearing the process was rapidly accelerating to the point at which it could no longer be contained, area man Brian Talbott reportedly looked on helplessly Tuesday as variants of his nickname evolved and multiplied at breakneck speed.

I Fear Grass

Oh, infernal grass, how your greenness haunts me! You camouflage the most diseased of vermin—insects, rodents and children scamper freely in your expansive forests of grotesque greenery we call yards.

I run screaming when I see your millions of sharp skinny blades protruding from Mother Earth, like unsheathed swords waiting for me to fall upon them and disembowel myself. I make a wide berth around the piles of shredded lawn clippings—grass blades that have been freed from the shackles of their roots, hoping I might step on them with my wet galoshes and carry them like parasites into my home.

One day, you grass blades will learn to get up and walk on your own, but I will not be around to witness that horror: I will move to the desert. Take that, grass!

Of course, I also fear sand. Bastard sand, you are the Devil's work! Zillions of infinitesimal hard granules, you turn a windy day into a maelstrom of tiny round projectiles. If one of those grains of sand gets into my eyes, I will most certainly go blind, and a grain in my ear will go straight to my brain, rendering me a vegetable.

A day at the beach is an opportunity for you, O dreaded sand, to infiltrate every part of my body: my toes, hair, belly button and anus. That's why I always wear protective goggles, face mask, surgical scrubs and a sombrero whenever I am forced by law to go to the beach: (I am still fighting for those laws to be repealed.)

Children, so accustomed to the ways of evil, abet your menacing ways and erect altars to you in the form of sand castles, but I always demolish these monstrosities: I bring a hammer attached to a stick that's long enough so I don't have to come in contact with any sand, and I use this to raze these miniature fortresses. You'll not best me, foul sand!

I, in fact, hate all of the outdoors. Once I've relocated to the desert, I'll perch my shack upon a large solid rock, lock my doors and never set foot outside again. Take that, outdoors!

Once I've sheltered myself from the wild, I will be forced to confront my fear of paint. I curse thee, wretched paint! In wet form, your fatal stench clogs my nostrils, making me light of head and short of breath.

One drop of you forever mars anything it touches—a permanent scar left as a constant reminder of your power over the weak and infirm. Once you, O rancid liquid, have been slathered upon the walls and ceilings and sills of any room, your ghastly monochromeness mocks me. Everywhere I look, all I see is you. That is why the walls of my dream home will not bear the mark of the paint menace!

Finally, once my shelter is built, I will put it in a rocket and shoot it into space, for, you see, I fear gravity. A pox upon thee, O vile force of nature! Your pull upon me prevents my unfettered ascent into the heavens. Each time my feet touch the ground, I convulse and shriek, knowing my destiny is to remain here on Earth, so that is why I must leave. As I hurl into the cosmos toward Pluto, my feet will no longer be tethered to Terra Firma, my fears will finally be allayed, and I will cocoon myself in the security of my wayward spacecraft. I leave thee an orphan, foul gravity!

I'm also afraid of language, so typing this very story has caused sweat to stream from my every pore. Now I am curled in a fetal position, slowly typing this treatise one letter at a time, praying that this will never be decipherable! If it is read, I shall surely perish!